The Nature of Chaos
by Jack The Bard
Summary: Inthracis has resurrected Pharaun, and has offered to help the mage get back at Quenthel. Formerly by Iceberg Baenre, but he is no more. Nothing is owned, nothing is given.
1. Resurrection

**This is my interpretation of what happened after Pharaun got chewed up by an army of spiders. ENJOY!!  
**

* * *

Pharaun woke up.

It was a strange thing, having to wake up after he had died, but it felt somewhat refreshing. He had to be in a new body, but he couldn't move. Incredibly strange, that.

His eyes twitched from side to side, getting used to this new body, which was still that of a drow, but slightly stronger than the previous one he had. His magnificent repitoire of spells still lingered in his mind, but things were hazy, and he had to work on his memory before he could do some spellcasting.

It was only then that his lungs started to burn, and Pharaun realized that he hadn't been breathing. He jolted upright, taking in that first refreshing breath of air, and started breathing through his nose.

He looked around the room, seeing what appeared to be walls made of flesh and bone, and a scent that was of rotting corpses. He stood up, wavering on unsteady legs, and turned around to see that he was in what appeared to be a rather large library.

Pharaun saw a large figure sitting in a bone chair about fifty meters away from him, examining a tome of flesh with a pair of spectacles. It was the ultroloth that Pharaun had slain what felt like centuries ago, and he was alive and well.

The yugoloth's head peered up from the book, and he spoke in bassal tones "Ah, you're alive. I would like to thank you for showing me that little trick about the energy field and the delayed blast fireball. I must admit, you are incredibly resourceful. Now, Pharaun, I wish for you to get your revenge."

Pharaun's eyes widened, and he looked up at the ultroloth, trying to form words with his nonresponsive mouth.

"I understand," the yugoloth replied. "You must get used to your new body, and then we shall speak."

A week passed, with Pharaun growing stronger by the day, eventually learning how to speak and cast basic cantrips once again.

One day, shortly after Pharaun ate a meal of barely palpable food, he approached the ultroloth, whose name he had learned to be Inthracis, at his desk.

He stammered the basic words, still not used to these new vocal cords. "Lord Inthracis, I have so many questions to ask you."

He was cut off shortly by a wave of a clawed hand. Inthracis turned around, using an ingenious chair that was able to rotate whenever Inthracis felt the need to turn to another desk. The yugoloth removed his spectacles. "Yes, Pharaun, I know all the questions you want answers to. First off, I am here because of a highly advanced cloning process that took me centuries to perfect.

"You are only here on the good graces of that dear alu, Aliisza, and by sheer dumb luck that the spiders did not eat your finger. I am a fleshmason, which means I was able to reconstruct your body, and find a way to bring you back to life. I have only resurrected you because you are going to be the only one who is able to regain your former seat of power, and perhaps something more."

Pharaun nodded, understanding completely. "The nature of chaos. Turning a former enemy into a new ally."

"Precisely. Now, If you are going to stop that pompous bitch, Quenthel, you are going to need my help. It has been four tendays since she left you to die, and It will be several years before you can get back to Menzoberranzan."

"I'm assuming this is an arcane library?"

"Very perceptive, just as in your last life. Through this library, you shall expand your knowledge, making you the deadliest wizard in the whole of the Underdark, and in some parts of the Abyss too."

Pharaun smiled at the thought of sweet revenge. "When do we start?"

Inthracis returned the smile.

So Pharaun's new training began.

* * *

**I know. I got the idea from Dark Elf, but this shit is going to go down!**


	2. Training

**Chapter 2! I'm on a roll**

* * *

Pharaun's training began with simply remembering the spells he had memorized when he died. That part was easy.

Inthracis was tougher after that, forcing him to stay up for multiple cycles at a time, simply reading tomes in various languages, ranging from human to surface elf to demon. Within ten tendays, he had learned to speak, read, and write four other languages.

After the language training, Inthracis put him through vigorous combat tests, having him fight with only a weapon of Pharaun's choosing against various demons, going from manes to Inthracis himself. This portion of the training took five years.

More advanced spellcraft began, and Pharaun learned of the dark magiks of the Abyss, ranging from turning mortals into puppets under his control for several hours to conversion of divine energy into weave energy. The power Pharaun gained from this training was massive, and he spent 10 years perfecting it.

The final five years of Pharaun's training were incredibly bloody, as these were his experiments, and he spent the first two months attempting to summon the Sarthos demon and put it under his control. He died twice, having a rather angry Inthracis resurrect him both times.

When Pharaun finally did summon the Sarthos demon successfuly, Inthracis stood behind him and watched as the Balor danced to Pharaun's very thoughts, and would have raised an eyebrow if he had any.

In no time, twenty years had passed, and Pharaun had become a mage that was twice as strong as the one he had been before he died the first time.

The day finally came when Pharaun approached Inthracis about why he had been resurrected in the first place, as he had done many times before. Previously, he had gotten the typical response of "It's the nature of chaos."

However, Pharaun knew that this time it was going to be different.

"Why did you resurrect me the first time, Lord Inthracis?"

"It's that time, eh?"

"Yes"

"Well, if you must know, I shall require three days to show you the reason, and this time, it will be a good one, rather than "its the nature of chaos."

"Thank you, Lord Inthracis"

The mage could not help but smile as he turned away from the ultroloth, knowing he would finally get the answers he required.

The next three days were spent as the past five years had been. Without the bothering of Inthracis, of course. Pharaun sat at his desk, working on a replacement for one of the rings he had lost, particularly speaking of the enchanted rapier that had been shattered by the demon father of the draegloth Jeggred, who Pharaun had learned was now dead too.

He sat enchanting a rather large bone sword with a razor sharp edge that was so deadly, it could cut through a dragon's leg in a single swipe. Metal was hard to come by, so bone would have to be an alternative medium for his weapons, and it worked rather successfully, as Necromancy had become his prime subject next to Abjuration. The blade was a design that was rarely used even by its creators. It was a two meter-long blade with a handle that measured about fourty five centimeters. The blade was rectangular, with an edge at the end for stabbing. The natives of the land where it originated originally made it out of treated wood, and often used it during a hunt in order to deliver the killing blow to the animal... or enemy.

Pharaun willed the sword to his hand, and it did. The blade was enchanted so heavily, Pharaun could swing the normally 50-kilogram sword with the ease that he could swing a well-balanced dagger. A simple thought turned the bone sword into a ring that sat on his finger like a band of pearl, glimmering with a creamy light.

He stuffed his various wands into the pockets of his robes, which he had also enchanted to be as strong as dragon's scales (among other things), and he placed the pouches that contained his spell components on the sash which he used to tie the robe shut. He hefted the Staff of the Magi in his hand, remembering the day Inthracis had given it to him as a gift for controlling the Sarthos Demon. With this staff, he could easily level an entire forest, wipe a battlefield clean, or (if used properly)... annhilate a god. The staff was one to end all staves that had preceded it, with the power to shoot a single bolt of lightning that exploded on contact into five fireballs, or vice-versa. It also protected him a great deal from various elements, such as fire, cold, and lightning.

The time had come, Pharaun thought as he slid the ring that marked him as a master of Sorcrere onto one hand, and his new Ring of Flying onto the other. Time for him to find the true meaning of his resurrection.

* * *

**Wow... Now I know how RAS feels when he goes into great detail on something... I think I could do this for a living. R AND R!!  
**


	3. Assignment

**Writer's block gone! I'm walking on the sun!!**

* * *

Pharaun had prepared himself for the worst case scenario, as he was about to ask Inthracis about the true meaning of his resurrection.

He approached the ultroloth that he had slain in combat 20 years ago, yet had somehow survived to resurrect himself. Inthracis was sitting at his desk as he had been for the past several hours, examining a tome on advanced divination.

Inthracis heard Pharaun approach his desk, and looked up over the curious spectacles that he wore to read in order to peer at the drow. "I understand it has been three days, Pharaun, and it is time for you to learn about the truth behind your revival."

He hollered into the next room, "you may come in, now!"

Three figures strode into the room, one of which was all to familiar, as Pharaun knew every inch of it. Aliiza stood there with two drow, both male, with one carrying an enormous greatsword strapped to his back, and missing one hand. This one seemed to have a dark aura about him.

The other figure carried himself like a prince, his piwafwi showing many traces of magical energy, as well as the rapier and dirk he carried at his hips.

Inthracis turned back to Pharaun, "You already know Aliiza, but I would like you to meet the All-Powerful, most gracious, Lord Vhaerun."

Pharaun staggered back a few steps. He had seen Vhaerun once before, and had helped murder one of his high priests, Tzirik, but he assumed that the other god that he had warred with, Sveltarm, had bested him. He had come prepared for trouble, but not for a god.

Inthracis let the initial shock wear off, then spoke to Pharaun, "The other drow is Nimor Imphraezl, Former Anoited Blade of the Jaezred Chausslin." Nimor glared at Inthracis when the word "former" was uttered.

Vhaerun stepped forward, growing larger with each step to become a black mass in the vague shape of a drow, the greatsword still strapped to his back, however, having taken on the same hue and properties as its weilder.

The god spoke in a voice that rumbled, but still held the melodic tone of the drow tongue, "Pharaun Mizzrym, I have failed to defeat my adversary, Sveltarm, as you can see, but a new oppertunity arose, and one that most of us took." Nimor just glared at his god.

"Aliiza has killed Kaanyr Vhok, and taken his place as the head of the tannaruk hordes, which have thrived greatly under her rule." Aliiza smirked and gave a coy wave to Pharaun, making his genitals tingle. He had not thought about her much since his ressurection, so focused was he on revenge.

"However," the god continued, "we need to find a way to make sure that Menzoberranzan falls into my hands. That is why I am now appointing you, one of the 'worthless' sons of Lloth's chosen city, the leader of the attack on the city."

Pharaun's eyes widened, and after the initial shock had worn off, he said to Vhaerun "I accept this honor, Lord Vhaerun, and I want Quenthel Baenre to die by my hands."

The god nodded his approval and took his leave.

* * *

Took me a while, but I finally got it done!! HELLZ YES!!


	4. Magic tricks

**The nature of chaos continues. I've just had a really bad case of writer's block. And my typing seems a little worse than usual. (sweatdrop)  
**

* * *

Pharaun stood on the balcony, leaning on the bone railing that Inthracis had constructed, looking across the city that he inhabited, watching the demons going about their business in much the same ways that drow did: fortify defenses, buy, sell, and most like the drow was the occasional murder in the streets. He needed not to see the lithe form moving silently behind him, and he lashed out, taking his bone sword in hand and resting it on the assailant's neck.

Aliisza stood there, terrified as the cold white blade rested on her collarbone, millimeters away from slicing her cartoid artery. "I just came to see you. It's been a while"

Pharaun turned back to the balcony, the bone blade slipping back into its ring form on his finger, and just said "It's been ten years, and you visited only once before to return my finger. You seem heartless, even for a demon."

The alu-fiend frowned, slipping behind the drow mage and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Remember when you taught me some of your magic tricks?" She smiled as she recounted the incident. She also noticed that a smirk had worked its way across Pharaun's face as he also remembered the pleasureful incident.

"And?"

"I want you to teach me some more."

"Don't you know every trick in the book?"

"Not really. I just want to make sure you didn't lose your... skill." At this, she slid a hand into the sensitive place in between his legs.

The smirk widened into the smile that had occupied his face frequently so many years earlier, and in his now-atypical tone of sarcasm he said, "Oh, no. It's not like I got chewed apart by a horde of swarming venemous spiders ten years ago."

Aliisza smiled again as well, knowing that her lover from so many years ago was back.

Then, the clever drow was behind her, sliding his two ebony hands around her leather-clad waist, resting his fingers on the swell of her perfectly formed hips.

"I learned a few new tricks from your sisters," He whispered into one of her slightly pointed ears.

Aliisza couldn't help but feel that Pharaun got more powerful over the past decade as he roamed his dexterous hands all over the body he knew so well.

* * *

**Shoop da whoop. It's finally done!**


	5. Sacrifice

**It's been more than two years. Two years since my last post. I guess that it was finally time.**

* * *

It had been three cycles since that evening with Aliisza, and now Pharaun sat before a great wall, his legs crossed, his mind in meditation. He had been in this same place for the past two cycles, his mind set, fixed upon the mighty task before him. He was to open a portal to Menzoberranzan. A portal that an army could walk through. And his task was almost complete. He stood, not even the slightest bit exhausted from the work without food, drink, or rest.

He removed a bone from his pocket, one with runes etched one every visible part of its two inch surface, and snapped it between his right forefinger and thumb. Power surged through the air, and a portal opened next to him, allowing Aliisza and Nimor Imphrazel to walk through.

"I'm just about ready," Pharaun said, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a knife of black bone, "I simply require a sacrifice."

"Why are we here, then?" Nimor asked, his back flexing, the shadow dragon wings almost popping out.

"I need a sacrifice," Pharaun replied simply before thrusting his hand out at the two of them, speaking but a word. Power surged through the air as silver manacles snapped onto the wrists and ankles of both Nimor and Aliisza.

"What are you doing?" the alu screamed at him, her eyes full of fear.

"I think that much should be obvious," Pharaun replied, his face twisting into a devilish grin. He pointed at the bound Nimor first with the knife, causing the drow to attempt to squirm away.

"Don't even try it," Pharaun said, "Those manacles are as strong as adamantite, and a thousand times as heavy as they look." He leveled the dagger at Nimor once again. "Eenie," he said before switching over to Aliisza, "Meenie," he said, pointing the knife back at Nimor, "Mynie." He spoke again, chanting what appeared to be a children's rhyme, switching who he pointed the dagger at with every word.

"Eenie, Meenie, Mynie, Moe. Grab a demon by the toe. If he roars, then let him go. Eenie, Meenie, Mynie, Moe. My Matron told me to pick the very best one and you…" He aimed the point at Aliisza, "Are…" he switched over to Nimor, pausing before he said the final word.

"It."

The black dagger, simple in design, with blood red runes etched into it pointed at Aliisza.

"Your number's up, love." Pharaun said, crouching between her and Nimor, "I will not deny that it was fun while it lasted.

"No… No no no no no…." Aliisza said, the one word becoming her whole life, as he pulled her head back to get at the soft white flesh of her throat. Pharaun pressed the tip of the knife onto the big vein in her neck with a wicked smile before thrusting the blade behind him to slice into Nimor's neck.

Nimor, who had been breathing a sigh of relief at his apparent survival, tried to speak in protest, but only blood gushed forth from his mouth. Pharaun ripped the blade outward, tearing half of the drow's neck with it. Aliisza looked at the mage with a stare that was half shock, half questioning, and Pharaun just laughed, "Nature of Chaos, my love." He snapped his fingers, and the manacles binding her disappeared. He placed the knife in the center of a hexagram that he had constructed to summon the portal, and the Weave magic began to flow.

A rip occurred. A rip that could fit three giants high and twenty abreast tore through the wall, granting Pharaun a portal to march his army through. An army of demons, tannaruks, and undead, each with the intention of rendering Menzoberranzan to little more than a massive pile of rubble.

The mage laughed. Maniacally.

* * *

**I suppose it's safe to say that I've improved over the years.**


	6. Reincarnation

The portal was open, and Pharaun had made it so the poor, poor citizens of Menzoberranzan would be none the wiser. A few stitches, a minor healing spell or two, and Nimor Imphrazel's body was whole once again. It would prove to be of value in the days to come.

Until then, Pharaun had other preparations to make.

In the Corpsehaven keep, the drow mage stood before a massive table, more of a gigantic block of bone than anything else. Upon this table was a masterpiece, though an untrained eye would not recognize it as anything more than a monstrosity.

The chest was broad, that of an ogre, treated and enchanted so the flesh would be as hard as steel plate. Centered in the chest was a massive hollow that held an eye, the eye protected by a layer of glassteel. Pharaun had hunted down an Elder Orb beholder and taken its central eye, using a shrinking enchantment on it so it would fit in the chest hollow.

The arms were mechanical, items of gear and wire, cord and plate, containing a variety of weapons ranging from a simple blade as long as a short sword to a tube that spewed flames when activated to a canister that would release poisonous gas. The legs were thick, powerful, and reptilian, having been taken from a lizardman king. Once again, the scales were brought to ten times their previous strength. Pharaun did not want this creation of his to fail, and had taken every precaution to ensure that it would stay in one piece. The head was that of a drow, though it had been enlarged to fit the rest of the body.

All that remained was to put the soul that Pharaun desired into it. He would have to delve deep, deep into the Demonweb Pits in order to retrieve it. He did not view it so much as blasphemy anymore, as much as he viewed it as lifting his robe to relieve himself on Lolth's face.

Chanting, the mage placed his hand on the creation's forehead, his mind going through the worlds, sneaking past the magical barriers that Lolth had put up to defend the 66th layer of the Abyss. He searched the whole area as quick as a flash before coming to where Lolth kept her dead.

They took the form of spiders in this twisted afterlife, and it took Pharaun half of a cycle to find the soul that he wanted. It was glorious. The spider's form was as deadly as it had been in life, the legs edged as sharp as swords, the fangs glistening with venom so powerful that a single drop could kill ten drow. It hissed at the presence of Pharaun's mind, even before the powerful mage enacted his spell.

His chanting rose to a crescendo, and the drow forcibly dragged the spider-soul out of the Demonweb Pits, the creature hissing, screaming, and thrashing all the way. Finally, after almost three quarters of a cycle of hard work, Pharaun finally stuffed the soul into the amalgam of flesh, metal, and magic.

Once the soul was in the body, it immediately came to life, thrashing and snarling, trying to kill Pharaun if at all possible. The mage was prepared for this, however, and bound his creation to the table with the same magical manacles that he had used to bind Nimor and Aliisza. It was a good while before the thrashing subsided, and when it did, the drow head turned left and right in order to look at its surroundings, before seeing Pharaun.

"Pharaun Mizzrym?" the creation asked, and the voice was a familiar one.

"Yes, my friend. I am here. Do you remember your name?"

"I… I think. It has been so long…" He looked at the drow again, "I died, Pharaun. And now I'm back. In a body that is not mine. Whose is this?"

"It is the body of many a creature, but now it's yours. I need your name, my friend. Just tell me your name."

"But it's been so long. I have been dead so long… More than twenty years."

"I died twenty years ago as well, but now we're both back." Pharaun said, growing impatient. Most of the other souls he had brought back from beyond the grave had not been this difficult. Then again, most of them had not been dead for more than twenty years.

"My name…" the creation said, visibly searching his past life's thoughts for the answer, "My name was Ryld. Ryld Argith. Master of Melee Mathgere. I was killed by the Draegloth Jeggred Banre, and he ate my heart."

Pharaun smiled, but on the inside, he was cheering that he performed such a successful transfusion of ancient soul to body. "Would you like me to release you now, Ryld?" Pharaun asked.

"Get this fancy magic away from me. You know how much I hate it."

"I do, I do," the mage said, dismissing the spell. It was good to have an old friend back.

Ryld sat up and pushed himself off the table, stretching his new body, which was a bit stiff from the time it spent unused. "This is quite the work you've done," he said, examining the arms, willing the various gadgets in each to come forth, "I like it. But I doubt that I'll be any good without a real weapon."

"Look at your chest," Pharaun said, starting to walk away, his black robes flowing behind him.

Ryld stared at the eye, cocking an eyebrow as it looked up at him as well, "Beholder?" he asked, to which Pharaun simply nodded, responding, "I know what you mean, though." He opened a chest on the opposite side of the room, reaching into it and withdrawing a massive sword that would have never fit in the relatively small box, hefting the blade with some difficulty before offering it to the reincarnated Ryld.

Whirring and clicking, Ryld's right arm reached out, taking the greatsword, scaled to match his eight-foot height, by the hilt.

It was a beautiful weapon, a replica of his previous weapon, Splitter, save for the fact that it was made entirely out of pearl-white bone, and the crossguard and edges of the blade were a bright red, like freshly spilled blood. It felt more powerful, too.

"You made this?" he asked his friend, still entranced by the blade.

"I knew how much you loved that clumsy weapon, and that since you died, there was no way I was going to be able to retrieve it."

"That damned Draegloth broke it. Used a magical axe," Ryld said, his memories coming back to him more easily now, "I look forward to ending him with this."

"Too bad," Pharaun replied, "he's already dead. Quenthel used him as her first sacrifice to the newly resurrected Spider Queen."

"Bitch," Ryld swore, placing the tip of the weapon on the ground, the sword's five foot length coming most of the way up Ryld's chest, "Do you have a scabbard for this?" he asked.

"Just snap your fingers. Pull on it when you need it." Pharaun said.

Ryld performed the action that the mage told him to, surprised when the metal hand made a normal sounding snap. Even more surprising to the warrior was when the sword shrank down and made its way to his neck, forming a pendant, silver chain and all. He reached up, grabbed the hilt of the pendant, and pulled, the weapon re-forming in his hand.

"Very good. You've improved." Ryld said, his drow face making a rare smile, "I suppose I'll have to test out my skills once again, see if I can remove some of the rust from the years as a spider."

"Go ahead. I still have work to do," Pharaun said, and left.


	7. For the Benefit of Mr Kite

**I got this idea in the most bizarre of places: my dreams. It just seemed so... right. It was beautiful to me, and I hope you all think so too.  
**

* * *

With Ryld Argith, former master of Melee-Mathgere, newly resurrected, Pharaun Mizzrym moved to another room where a treated corpse lay on the table. He removed the shawl of leathery skin from the body to examine it. Upon the table lay the corpse of Nimor Imphrazel, former Anointed Blade of the Jaezred Chausslin, his throat covered with several sutures, closing the massive wound from the sacrificial dagger that Pharaun had plunged into his throat less than a day earlier.

Now, the corpse was ready for his examination. He took a bone knife from a stand next to him, the blade short and razor sharp, and sliced the flesh from collarbone to pelvis, then cut the top and bottom of the incision so the split skin formed a letter "I". That being done, he flayed the skin out so he could examine the insides.

Imphrazel's ribcage, rather than the usual white, was black, as were the rest of his bones. The mage attributed the bone's discoloration to the drow's Shadow Dragon lineage. Sawing through the ribcage with one of the instruments on the stand proved ineffectual, so Pharaun had to improvise. He cast a spell of strength on himself, then split the ribcage with a second spell. Using his giant's strength, he wrenched the Drow's ribs apart.

Splitting from the backbone with a massive crack, the ribs spread out to reveal Nimor's inner workings. Using a small spell of levitation and telekinesis, Pharaun summoned a set of bone bowls from across the room to float near him. He began removing Nimor's organs one by one, placing the heart in one bowl, the stomach in another, the lungs in a third, so on and so forth. Eventually, he reached the bottom, with the back of Nimor's ribs and his spine showing. Pharaun put his long-fingered hand, sticky with blood, into the cavity of the dead body's chest, prodding around. He found what he was looking for.

Nimor's wings were a miracle. They folded up so easily, and would come out with only minimal damage. Pharaun extracted them for further study, and sliced the Drow's head open. Nimor's brain was veined with green, but still kept the same general hue as a normal dark elf's head organ. He took great care in removing it, to ensure that he got the whole organ, including the stem that extended into the spine. He placed that in a final bowl before dumping all the other organs, save for the heart and wings, back into the corpse. A simple spell of teleportation sent the corpse into the moat of blood that surrounded Corpsehaven.

Pharaun had what he needed, now let the modificiations begin.

Pharaun first set the wings on the table, then shrugged off his robe, leaving him clad in nothing but a pair of breeches, black as Lolth's heart. He reached into one of the robes of his pocket, removing a large bottle. It was Cormyrean brandy, some of the best that money could buy, and he had been saving it for a special occasion. He removed the cork from the bottle, and took a deep swig. The brandy would numb the pain, yet it would not numb his wits. He had gone through too much training to fall victim to pain when strength was needed most.

He lay on the table, face down, using the same spell he had used earlier to levitate the bowls to raise up a few of the tools from his stand to hover in the air above his back before a knife slowly sliced into his skin. He clenched his teeth in pain, the knife stopping for the briefest of moments before continuing its treacherous path down his back. It still managed to cut straight, a clean cut with only one more stop when the knife scraped up against his spine for the briefest of moments.

The incision across his shoulders and along the bottom of his back was easy, since he took care to avoid the major arteries across the top and the organs along the bottom. He then flayed his back out, the skin spreading like the wings that lay on the table with him.

The first of those wings, the left, raised and placed itself on the bleeding skin. A needle and thread lifted up from the stand and sutured the wing to the muscle of his back. The wing folded neatly, and would not make any bulges when they were under his skin. The second wing went in easily, and he folded the skin over his back once more. A spell finished the connection of the wings to the rest of his body, and a healing draft sealed the wounds, and the wings inside him.

Not finished, however, Pharaun had to make a way for the wings to exit his body. The knife went to where the tips of the wings were, where they would pop out with the smallest flex given enough room, and he made a cut where the wing would first stick out, and cut down a half meter to allow it space. He did the same on the opposite side, growing accustomed to the pain, and sutured the two sides of the cut onto themselves, that way they wouldn't knit themselves back together.

He sat up, finally finished, and slipped a ring of regeneration onto his finger, the small circle of platinum, studded with rubies, going to work immediately, assimilating Nimor's wings into Pharaun's body. He took another nip from the bottle of brandy, then walked back to his living quarters to wash the blood from Nimor and himself from his body.

Within three cycles, he could use the wings as if they had been there his entire life.

* * *

**I submit the usual request for R&R here, but I also thank the person that got me back on track with this story. You know who you are.  
**


End file.
